Fractured (4 Parts)
by DukeGirl2001
Summary: Four part story.
1. Chapter 1

Part I

The first time she approached him he almost let his guard down.

The hour was late. The sun had long set over the mountains and the snow on the ground glistened under the streetlamps.

It has been a long day. Long week. Long month. He stood, gazing out at the world below him and felt the chill of the window as he rested his forehead against the smooth glass.

Long life really.

He had heard the knock at the door but had done nothing at first. He continued to stand, not moving except to raise his glass slowly to his lips and slowly, slowly drink the last of the night's scotch.

He didn't move towards the door.

Below him an errant page of newsprint lifted and spiraled along the scraped sidewalk, coming to rest in front of the hotel's concierge stand. Its inflated pages becoming flat and then wet.

He closed his eyes.

The knock came again. Not harder, just persistent and he inhaled deeply before opening his eyes again.

He knew why she was here. Or at least, he thought he knew, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

Her eyes, as of late, had contained a glint of something new when she looked at him. A hint of understanding mixed with fire, and she no longer shied away from his intentional touches.

His hand on her back. Brushing her cheek. The moments he had given himself, but which she had previously pushed away.

That's why she was here. In his hotel. At his door. At this late hour. Wanting to come inside.

And she needed to go.

Breathing deeply he let his eyes drift close again and he settled down into the upholstered armchair facing the street. Something bitter and akin to regret settling in his chest.

He let his head fall back against the frame of the chair and felt the leather wallet in his back pocket cutting into his skin.

He didn't move it. Just sat there and welcomed the distraction of the discomfort.

He strained to hear footsteps or words or any sounds from the hallway, but there were none.

She must have given up. Opening his eyes towards the entry, he couldn't detect any disruption in the light under the door.

Disappointment, unwelcome and cold, prickled through him and he repressed it, pushing it down into the depths where everything else went. No room left for emotion.

He couldn't have her.

Never could.

Stupid fantasies both disgusting and exciting him. Surprising him when he began to have dreams of her months ago.

She was his friend's daughter. Half his age. A beautiful woman with life and love and a future.

No, he couldn't have her.

Outside a taxi pulled to a stop in front of the hotel and a uniformed attendant rushed to open the door. A man and woman in heavy parkas exited the vehicle and moved towards the revolving doors.

It had come upon him slowly and he had hated himself for it…the perversion. His absolute fascination with her. The way she could calm him, just by existing next to him…make the world fall away.

She was practically the age of his daughter.

The knocking came again. Startling him. Louder this time and he knew then that she knew that he was ignoring her.

Dembe must have tipped her off that he was inside. Red held the glass of ice to his temple. Pushed it against his skin.

It made it harder; that she thought it could happen. Fate playing some cruel twist of the knife.

He stood, arms at his sides, and faced the door. His tumbler grasped in one extended hand. Empty.

He should open the door. It wasn't her fault that he had these things, these feelings, towards her. It wasn't her fault.

Not at all.

And her feelings, the things he thought he saw in her eyes, they weren't real either. Just misplaced trust. Or something.

He would hurt her.

The knocking resumed.

But he knew why she was here. The interest, once fear, than wariness…over the months and years now having turned into something else.

And he couldn't be that person for her.

He didn't want to lose her too. But having her in any capacity would mean losing them both.

So he held his ground and waited until he could hear her walk back towards the elevator.

Much later, he watched her form, hunched over against the wind as she walked quickly down the street. Disappearing around a corner.

And he wished it wasn't so.

He loved her (because that's what it was, even he couldn't pretend it wasn't).

And he had to let her go.


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

The next time she approached him he was bleeding.

From where he lay on the ground he could see the cinder block retaining wall and, beyond that, a parking lot and darkened building. The remnants of the earlier snow were shoved up against the curb, the rough ice now tinged with gray.

He could taste the blood, warm and metallic, and he sputtered and tried to rid it unsuccessfully from his mouth. The thrum, thrum, thrumming of his heartbeat filled his ears and he watched, in a rather detached manner, as a dark river began to flow from where he lay down towards a nearby storm grate.

He registered nothing, no pain, no cold, nothing. It must be shock he gathered and proceeded to stare up at the sky. He wasn't afraid.

From behind his place on the pavement he heard voices, shouts, the staccato of running feet and then the scream.

Suddenly it all came back, the stabbing pain in his back, in his head, the almost knifelike chill as the air whipped against his exposed neck and ears, and the inexplicable need to run.

As if running was an option.

Lizzie. His only thought. If he was here on the ground, where was she? She had been right behind them. His target had failed to show for their prearranged meeting and he and Lizzie were on their way back to the –

Where was Dembe and the car?

The scream sounded again, closer now, the pitch breaking the silence of the night. Red strained to turn towards the sound.

Xxx

She fell to the ground beside him as soon as she reached his battered form on the asphalt. He could feel her hands moving frantically to his neck – checking for a pulse no doubt, and then skittering over his chest his head.

He could feel her rise up for a moment. Reach away for something, her phone maybe? He heard her call for Dembe. Heard her tell him to hurry – her voice shrill with something akin to fear.

Red closed his eyes.

Xxx

She was back now. He sensed her rather than saw her and then he felt her hands, gentle and warm, on the side of his face.

She moved them up and down, back and forth, caressing the skin under his temple, his cheek. Felt her other hand join her first and then still at his jaw, her thumbs still making circular motions on his cheeks.

The pain had lessened and he could detect that they were moving. His arms, from what he could feel, were strapped down to some sort of gurney and the steady beep beep beep of a monitor was audible above the hum of the engine.

"Mr. Kaplan's here," she whispered in his ear and the feel of her breath against his face almost took away the pain he felt in every other inch of his body, "you're going to be okay."

He wanted to squeeze her hand for that, for trying to reassure him, but due to the restraints he couldn't move at all so he tried to open his eyes and speak. Despite the effort nothing moved and he swore internally for not having the foresight to anticipate whatever disaster had ended with him in this condition.

He felt her hands start to move again and then something warm touched his cheek and he realized that she must have leaned down, placing her face beside his. She smelled soft and light, familiar, and the proximity calmed him and he almost wished he could go on like this – in this incapacitated state – just to feel Lizzie beside him and breathe her in and to not have any ability to make her stop.

She whispered again in his ear, her words low and soothing, and he willed himself to focus on anything else but the way she felt beside him. The way she made the world slow down and the pain go away just by existing there with him.

She could be his daughter. He tried to focus on that fact. But his brain knew the facts that reason kept pushing to the forefront and his heart was betraying him on the matter.

Xxx

The others must have gone now.

He couldn't detect anyone else in the room and he struggled to open his eyes.

The walls around him were bare but were clearly part of a bedroom, not a stark hospital room. The curtains pulled tight and a burgundy lamp burning in the far corner.

Mr. Kaplan must have come through like Lizzie said. Put back the pieces again. How many more times could she do that? His body bore more battle wounds than most combat veterans.

The door opened with a miniscule squeak and he watched as a narrow strip of light from the hallway beyond became visible.

He heard Lizzie speak with someone, her tone low, but couldn't make out the words. Asking permission maybe?

And there she was. Her face looked tired but determined and she ran her eyes immediately over the monitor beside the bed before coming to rest on his face.

Those eyes, so blue.

He felt his mouth try to form a smile, and he wasn't sure if it was working until he saw the relief flood her face and the corners of her mouth turned up and she looked like she might start to cry despite the grin on her face.

"You didn't think you could shake me that easily, did you, huh?"

She asked the question clearly not expecting and answer.

He smiled in return and thought about just how much truth there was to her words. His subconscious, his inner being, determined to love this woman despite any regard for reason.

He saw her form, clad in jeans and an oversize shirt, cross the remaining distance to the bed and then felt the mattress depress as she settled her weight beside him. Lay down right next to him on top of the covers and looked into his eyes.

"Don't scare me like that again." Her tone was light but he saw the tears beginning to pool at the edge of her eyes.

And that broke him.

He would have to leave, he thought to himself. He wasn't enough for her. Being attached to him would do her no good. Would cause heartbreak at the least and potential real threats to her livelihood or worse.

No, he must go.

But then she sighed and moved a bit closer and his wants outweighed his rational argument and he began to breathe deeply himself.

But not tonight, he thought, not tonight.

And he drifted off to sleep beside her.


	3. Chapter 3

Part III

The third time he pushed her away.

The hour was late, the air was warm, and Red had had altogether too much to drink. He leaned against the rough seawall, idly scanning the horizon for ships, but all he could see was water. Deep green water cresting and foaming as far as the eye could see.

Behind him the noise of the party ebbed and swelled and the errant shout of a drunken guest carried all the way across the lawn to where Red stood. The man had clearly had enough to drink Red thought.

They'd all had too much to drink.

Swaying slightly in the breeze Red brought the bottle back up to his lips and felt the cold smoothness of the liquor as it flowed back over his tongue, burning his throat and coursing down.

It was her fault, he thought. She shouldn't have come. The party had been the means to an end. The chance to rendezvous with a harmless ally and gain information necessary for the next step of the operation.

As expected, the gentleman had been waiting for Red at the precise hour that they had agreed upon and Red had been in procession of the coordinates, dates, and times in question within minutes of arriving at the event.

And that would have been it, if she hadn't intervened.

Xxx

Red had turned to leave, his goodbyes still reverberating on his lips, when he saw her enter the party.

Night had fallen and the Mediterranean style villa glowed in the early evening air. Guests mingled about moving in and out of the house, the revelry spilling out onto the lawn. The red and orange flowers procured for the occasion stood tall and bright in cylindrical glass containers centered on high top tables spread across the patio and the smell of roasting pork radiated from the outdoor kitchen.

Red scanned the perimeter, looking for the least noticeable area from which to make his exit when he saw her and stopped dead in his tracks.

He hadn't known she was coming. They had discussed the logistics, the timing, the objectives of the meeting and agreed that she wasn't needed. That she should instead stay in and work on obtaining the data for the next step of the mission.

Instead she stood, backlit by the lights spilling from the ballroom, at the threshold of the gathering. Her hair flowed gracefully down her back in soft waves and her skin took on an almost ethereal glow in the light. She wore a red dress made of gauzy fabric that swayed in the wind and traced every curve.

Red drew in a sharp breath and swore.

Lizzie looked beautiful. Too beautiful. Something like pain radiating from his chest.

In that moment where he stood frozen she finally found him with her eyes and smiled, her shoulders visibly relaxing and she started towards him across the stone walkway.

As she walked Red watched the action of the men around her arrest as they stared at her form, their expressions ranging from adoration to something close to lewd, and Red felt his fingernails bite into his palms.

Pain. Seeing her like this caused pain.

His anger at himself, his self-hatred for wanting her the way that he wanted her. For physically craving her despite any reason. All welling up and refueling with jealously as he watched her ogled by other men.

By lessor men.

She moved further towards him before being stopped by a white jacketed waiter and she looked away long enough for Red to process what was happening.

She had come for him. She had come to the party for him. Dressed like that and smiling like that.

For _him_.

He had to get her to leave. Had to get her away from here.

From_ him_.

By the time she reached his side Red had composed his features and he looked down at her warmly, the smile on his face plastic and bright.

"Good evening Lizzie," he murmured, "this is a surprise." Which it really was, in every way including her physical presence here beside him.

Her eyes traced his form before finding his face and she winked, "I thought you might need backup." Her eyes stayed on his and he felt sure he might expire from anger or desire, he wasn't sure which.

They stood there like that for a moment, she with the upper hand and him with the rapidly mounting rage when –

at the sound of an encroaching individual Red's had automatically extended to her waist and he pulled her close before moving them off to the shelter of one of the white canvas tents erected in the yard.

"Lizzie, I can assure you no back up was needed." And he smoothed his hand down, lower still. The bottom end of her zipper tangling with his thumb.

"You never know," she said with a smirk and then patted him on the arm. It was a familiar gesture, made by acquaintances and strangers alike, but in that moment the feel of her palm through the cotton of his sleeve sent heat up his arm.

"Dance with me?" she asked, her eyes not giving anything away as she looked up at him.

He shook his head slightly and he thought he detected a trace of disappointment cross her face.

"I'm going to enjoy the party then," she announced, walking away before turning and asking over her shoulder, "need a drink?"

Yes, Lizzie, yes, he needed lots of them.

Xxx

And so he found himself hours later at the seawall, watching for non existent ships to come in, feeling the alcohol burn down his system, his desires and his ideals at such odds with each other he could feel the tension pulling on each part of him.

So caught up was he in his own inner strife that he didn't hear her approach until she spoke quietly from his rear.

"Red," she murmured.

She reached for him then, taking her hands and framing his face. He could feel the softness of her skin and almost taste the perfume dabbed on her wrists. She held him there, her body inching closer to his, pressing against him, their upper legs, arms, torsos touching. Almost skin to skin. Almost.

He lost himself in that moment and wished simultaneously that he was anywhere but standing pressed against Elizabeth Keen and wishing that the moment could perhaps never stop except to proceed as she clearly wished it would.

There had been many instances when he had seen her, wanted her, loved her, but this was the first time that he was absolutely sure that the sentiments were reciprocated. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

_That he could have her. _

She ran her hand around his neck, her fingers ghosting over his skin, and then ran her nails through the short hair on his scalp. Slowly, slowly.

Red shivered and his hands flexed against her back. Inched closer.

He had to leave. His desire would be his undoing and that would break him.

Break her. And then they would both fall to pieces.

"Raymond," she said, and it was the first time she had called him anything but Red, and the world swayed for a minute. The alcohol or the situation, he wasn't sure. His hand on her waist steadying him.

"Raymond," she whispered again, leaning into him, tilting her chin up so that she could look in his eyes –

and dammit to hell, she had beautiful eyes. The deep, dark blue that a man could get lost in.

Had gotten lost in.

He saw her lips, ruby red in the moonlight and watched her dark lashes as they fell over her pale skin. Her mouth approaching his. Wanting him.

His arm moved to pull her closer and he felt the weight of her as she leaned fully into him, felt her breath against his face, and –

He pushed her away, his arms braced out in front of him.

Ignored her calls of protest. He didn't turn around.

Red walked directly down the ocean path, across the grass, through the tents sparsely populated by guests, through the gate and too the traffic circle.

He kept walking through the small stones in the driveway only slowing when her heard the growl of a German engine idling up behind him.

"Raymond?" The questioning voice belonged to Dembe and Red paused and looked through the lowered window.

"Get her," he said, growled through his teeth, "and bring her home."

And he walked off into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

Part IV

It didn't happen again until it was all over.

Xxx

Liz stepped out of the hot shower onto the thick bathmat. Condensation clung to every surface of the hotel bathroom, and she watched a bead of moisture slide down the smooth mirror above the marble vanity.

The plush hotel towel felt comforting against her skin and she moved to reach for the wall dryer, her arms heavy and unsure.

It has been a long day. Long week.

It had been a long few months since that fateful day that Luther Braxton propped her disheveled form into a makeshift medical chair and forced an abducted psychologist to reach for answers, memories, secrets that Liz didn't even know she possessed.

She winced at that memory.

Today had been different. After much contemplation Liz had decided to meet with a psychotherapist on her own will. Liz couldn't pretend that the secrets that she held, the location of the fulcrum specifically, weren't of national interest.

Weren't of the Bureau's interest.

As she sat strapped down to a sterile bench, IV in one arm, and Reddington's hand in her other she had told herself that she was doing it for herself. The she, Elizabeth Keen, wanted to know the answers. Wanted clarity as to what had happened to her (it was _her life_ after all) way back when.

But in the end, in the deep dark background of her mind, she knew that she had gone through it all for him.

For Reddington.

Because somewhere deep down she felt like it was the right thing to do. It was what she should do.

And she didn't examine those thoughts too closely.

Standing in the empty hotel bathroom, the air cooling now and the unplugged hairdryer still in hand, she remembered staring first up at the rectangular fluorescent light of the exam room and then over to her left into the concerned eyes of the man she had thought, that she had really really _believed_, had cared about her.

She dug her toe, dark polish chipping, into the travertine bathroom floor.

But he didn't care.

She felt the bite of her nails digging into her palm.

And now he had what he needed.

The tears pushed hard at the back of her eyes but she didn't let them fall. Stared instead into the glowing lights above the vanity.

And he would go.

And she was left here broken.

Slowly, slowly she made her way to the bed and sank headfirst into the soft duvet.

Tomorrow would be another day.

And she fell into dreamless sleep.

Xxx

Saturday dawned bright and cold, and the bite of the winter sun splayed into the hotel room as Liz forced her eyes to open.

Sometime during the night the towel had slipped off of her and she found herself naked now, pressed against the pristine white bedding.

She hadn't even closed the drapes.

She hadn't even cared.

Making her way across the room she pulled a rumpled shirt and dark pants from the duffle sitting on the ornate desk and quickly dressed herself. No use overthinking things.

Best to just put one foot in front of the other.

And so she did. First stopping at the lobby desk to vacate her room, then climbing into a waiting cab, and finally descending the stairs down into Harold Cooper's office.

No doubt he would be in on a Saturday, the events of the prior day, the extraction of the Fulcrum's location, being what they were.

Liz pulled herself up straight and opened the door.

Xxx

Red uncrossed his legs and pulled himself up straight in the leather club chair. His eyes blankly scanned the walls of his temporary home. He had thought that sleep would elude him after the events that had transpired before.

Liz willingly being strapped to that chair.

Watching the horror play across her face. Hearing her scream dancing across the sterile white floor…hearing the same screams from that fateful night long ago playing in his mind.

It had been too much.

_Nothing_ had been worth all of that.

Standing he reached for his coat and nodded to Dembe who was standing by the door.

Xxx

"Good morning Agent Keen," Cooper greeted Liz in his usual gruff manner but she could see the hint of compassion briefly cross his face.

"I trust that you had a restful night."

She nodded and trained her gaze on the glass panel behind Cooper's head. This was too much. He wasn't even going to acknowledge that Red was gone. That Red had gotten from Liz the same thing that it turned out everyone wanted from Liz and now he was gone.

_Gone._

She took a deep breath and held herself straight.

"Agent Ressler has the full report from Dr. Phelps," Cooper continued. "I trust that you would like to read the transcripts yourself." It wasn't really a question.

Liz turned to make her way to the door.

"You haven't heard from Reddington have you?" Cooper's voice came from behind her and the question pierced her to the core.

Of course she hadn't heard from Reddington. He had everything that he needed. No need for her.

She shook her head and heard herself say no as she reached for the metal door handle.

"You don't remember?" Cooper's voice was suddenly loud and Liz forced herself to turn back towards his desk. The older agent's face was open with disbelief. "You really don't remember?" He repeated himself.

Confusion and fatigue were making it hard for Liz to understand what Cooper was inferring and it was all she could do to shoot him a quizzical glance.

This was all too much.

"He left," Cooper stated.

And, that of course, she knew. Of course he would leave. He didn't need her for her deposited memories any longer. The tears that had threatened earlier pressed back against her eyes.

She took a deep breath.

"Before your examination was over – _he left_. Surprised us all. Ressler perhaps more than anyone else. It was clear that Dr. Phelps was about to lead you to the Fulcrum and Reddington up and exited the building."

Cooper's mouth kept moving but she wasn't hearing anything. Red left? Why?

"Elizabeth," Cooper's soft words brought her back to reality, back to the post office and she mentally shoved her emotions back where they belonged and listened to him speak.

"I thought you knew," his words were gentle now, "or I would have contacted you personally last night. When Reddington left Agent Movadi caught up with him before he departed the premises. He gave her the information for the hotel where you stayed last night and this…"

Cooper reached into his desk drawer and pulled out an envelope marked with a single red E.

Liz took the letter and left the room without another word. Turning towards her office she quickly shut the door, locked it, and tore into the cream envelope – reading the words over and over as if to make sure that they didn't disappear.

He didn't know. Red hadn't stayed to find out where the Fulcrum resided. He wasn't in possession of the powerful information.

He wasn't in possession of the information because of her.

The tick, ticking of her office clock suddenly too loud in her ears.

Because he didn't want to know anything that might possibly be used to hurt her.

Liz shook her head and wiped her eyes hastily with the back of her sleeve.

He had given up a chance at the information because of her.

Because of _her._

He hadn't used her and then left. He hadn't used her at all.

And with that, her heart began to beat faster.

Xxx

It was late by the time Liz tracked Red down at a nondescript brownstone to the East of the city. Mr. Kaplan had not wanted to disclose his location, but Liz had pleaded over the phone and the desperation must have made the older woman acquiesce.

Pounding on the door with her fist Liz ignored the rain beginning to fall from the darkened sky and listened for any noise from inside the home.

On the street a taxi braked noisily and the hiss of a bus departing a traffic light colored the night.

A moment later the door opened slightly and Dembe's inquiring eyes met hers.

"He's upstairs – " Dembe began, and Liz was off, taking the carpet covered steps two at a time before he could finish.

Pushing open the door to the only closed room Liz saw Red reclined back against a dark leather chair. The remains of a fire glowed in the brick fireplace and fat drops of rain ran down the window behind him.

His eyes were closed and his chest moved up and down in even breaths. The buttons of his shirt were undone and a single glass of scotch stood untouched on the table beside him.

He looked older she thought. Deflated. The gray evident in his hair even in the low light.

His tailored clothing hanging undone and disheveled, his watch discarded on the floor.

So uncharacteristic for him.

She tiptoed closer.

"I thought you were done with me." His quiet words startled her and she looked up at his mouth. His eyes barely open but blue. So, so blue.

"No." She said, and she crossed the room stopping in front of him. A fraction of an inch separating her feet from his.

"You didn't take it." She said. And she didn't say the Fulcrum because they both knew what she was talking about.

"No." He said. And he didn't say anything more.

He should have looked broken to her she thought, in that moment, he should have looked broken the way he sat in the chair, watching her, the vestiges of the Concierge of Crime noticeably absent.

But he didn't. He looked human. And she moved to touch his face.

"Lizzie," he groaned and she couldn't tell the meaning behind that so she stopped and began to pull away.

A strong had surrounded her wrist and she felt herself being pulled forward. Against him. And there she was in the chair with the ghost of the fire behind her and the rain pat, pat, pattering against the window.

"Nothing is worse than losing you." He said the words so close to her ear that she could feel his warm breath against her skin and she shivered despite the heat in the room.

And she felt the muscles of his torso contract and release and she realized that she had never been this close to him before.

"Nothing." He said again.

She straightened and brought her hands back to his face. Felt the rough skin of his unshaven cheeks and bent to look into his eyes.

"I thought you were just using me." She said. And she realized as she heard the words leave her lips that she needed him to take the last step. To reassure her that she wasn't just some pawn in the game.

In his game.

"Plans change." He said simply.

And with that she dropped her head and he pulled her the rest of the way to him. His lips on hers soft and sweet and perfect.

"Nothing could be more important to me than you." He said again softly, pulling her to a standing position and wrapping his arms around her.

The fire ebbed and turned and in the soft light of the room he saw her, looked down into her eyes and felt his heart fracture, just the tiniest bit, and let the light in.

Tilting his head down, he placed his lips on hers.

Xxx.

Fin.


End file.
